


My Favorite Bad Decisions

by Meatball42



Series: Rare Pairs [152]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bad Flirting, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Diplomacy, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Flirting, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Other, Rough Sex, Time Travel, Timeline What Timeline, does this count as online dating?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: Clint Barton has a... checkered history of romance.Or, five people Clint didn't date, and one he did.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Heimdall, Clint Barton/Howard Stark, Clint Barton/Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Clint Barton/Jessica Jones, Clint Barton/Nebula, Clint Barton/Sharon Carter
Series: Rare Pairs [152]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/365729
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Howard Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to the estimable Gammarad for beta'ing this! <3
> 
> And honorary creator cred for Broseph, whose creative and enthusiastic brainstorming helping bring this work into the world, for better or worse.
> 
>  ~~This fic is complete, and will hopefully update every week, depending solely on whether or not I remember.~~ This fic will be updated whenever I remember to update it. Tags will be added with each chapter, but there are no particular warnings and content will remain T-rated.

Clint had to step out of the hotel room to take a call, and when he returned, Howard Stark was reclining on the lounger [in a bathrobe and slippers](https://imgur.com/a/fpwWNvm.jpeg) (that Clint knew for a fact they charged you for) with a mini-bottle of scotch in his hand.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “Did you order room service?”

Howard raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Who, me?’

“You’ve been in this millennium for two days and you’ve cost SHIELD more than I did my first year.”

“That’s inflation, my boy,” Howard chuckled, raising the tiny bottle in Clint’s direction. “You need to relax. Come, sit down, take a load off.”

Clint resisted the urge to scowl. Guarding Howard Stark after he came out of the portal R&D opened by mistake was a punishment duty, no matter how innocent Coulson tried to look when he assigned Clint to the task. The geek squad swore up and down that they'd have Stark back in his own time by tomorrow, but that still meant Clint had to put up with him until then. Howard Stark was a combination of arrogant and charming, the type of guy who knew just how attractive he was and had no shame. Clint had never gotten on with those guys. He dreaded every moment spent in Howard’s company.

...And not just because the man wouldn’t stop flirting.

“There now, isn’t that more relaxing?” Howard said with that particular grin.

Clint ignored it. He was only sitting down because it was stupid to stand 24/7 on a low-security protection detail; not because he wanted a conversation. He focused on the hotel TV, currently airing some sitcom.

“In a bad mood? I bet I could make you feel like a new man,” Howard cajoled him.

Clint glared back. “How many ways do I have to say I’m not interested? I’m your security detail, not your escort.”

“You’re here to ‘take care of me’,” Howard corrected. He shifted his weight on the sofa distractingly. “So why not let me take care of you in return?”

“I don’t even like you,” Clint scoffed, glaring at the TV screen like it insulted his mother. He tried to ignore the fact that if he really wanted to, he could have put an end to Howard’s seduction days ago. And also the fact that Howard knew it.

“You don’t have to like me,” the man murmured, inching closer to Clint along the sofa until they were nearly pressed together. “I’m very good at making people like me, once they, ah, get to know me a little.”

Clint gulped. _Shit. Why is this working?_

Howard’s hand slid along Clint’s thigh and Clint just watched it. “Come on,” Howard purred. “I’ll be gone by tomorrow, and besides… I think you’re like me... I think you’ve never met a bad decision you didn’t like.”

Clint turned his head, and his mouth was immediately covered by a pair of warm, clever lips. As the kiss turned more intense and higher reasoning slipped away from Clint’s mind, his last thought was, _‘This is my favorite bad decision.’_


	2. JARVIS

Around 6pm, Clint finished up his therapeutic painting session with Thor and returned to his room on Stark Tower’s fiftieth floor to pick out his outfit. He had a date, so he chose his best suit and tie, debating and discarding a purple tie pin.

After showering and shaving and picking out cologne, Clint entered the elevator at 7 on the dot with his laptop. Punctuality was important. He didn’t know too much about the intricacies of dating an artificial intelligence, but he figured it couldn’t be too far from dating a person with a normal body. Jarvis seemed okay, as people went, and he figured it was his responsibility to show the guy a good time.

Clint had his laptop tucked under his arm when he entered the restaurant. Jarvis had told him he’d taken care of the particulars, and when Clint entered he was almost immediately swept away to a private section. The host guided him to a corner booth, where he was almost entirely hidden the rest of the restaurant.

Clint opened up the laptop opposite himself. It took just a few seconds to load, which Clint spent unfolding his napkin politely and laying it on his lap. He had manners, okay? When Jarvis was booted up, Clint adjusted the screen so the camera on the lid had a good view of him. He inspected the set of his tie in the camera.

“How you doing?” he asked.

“Rather well,” Jarvis replied. Under the AI’s usual calm and collected manner, Clint’s SHIELD-trained ear detected a hint of uncertainty. “And yourself, Agent Barton?”

“No, no,” Clint scoffed. “If we’re doing this dating thing, you have to call me by my name.”

“Of course...Clint,” Jarvis replied “Please excuse me. All of this is… rather new.”

“No problem. I guess you’re not ordering, but, uh, how was your day?” Clin asked.

“My efficiency was excellent,” Jarvis informed him. “I performed my normal responsibilities in the Stark Industries server, created a new firewall for the Hong Kong installation, and had enough cycles left over to create a new Sims world. My town is having an economic boom.“

“Congrats!” Clint exclaimed. “How’d you do that?”

The meal passed pleasurably. Clint learned a lot from Jarvis about how to shape a society. He thought, in the back of his mind, that it maybe wasn’t such a good idea for someone with such power to have such a good understanding about what made a society tick and how to manipulate it. And he hoped he paid it back in his explanation of the human motivations of some of the Avengers— things Jarvis had difficulty discerning, since they weren’t as straightforward and logical as a computer-based being would find reasonable.

At the end of dinner, Clint pulled out his wallet, only for Jarvis to insist, “I will take care of the bill, Clint.”

Clint smiled, touched. “Thanks, Jarvis. You don’t have to do that. I can help pay.”

“I asked you to help me learn about the process of the human dating ritual. I have gleaned that it is custom for the party who asked to pay for the party who was asked.”

“Sure, when you’re being all heteronormative,” Clint allowed. “But you don’t have to.”

Jarvis considered this for several moments. On the laptop screen, the sharp mountains and valleys that represented his speech flatlined as he remained silent. “I understand your argument as to the equitability of the dating paradigm. However, I was programmed by Mr. Stark to maintain a conservative, ‘old-fashioned’ perspective. I think I’d like to pay entirely.”

“Fine by me,” Clint acquiesced.

Jarvis called a car, and Clint rode back to the Tower in style. They continued chatting over Clint’s smartphone during the trip, since it would have been obtrusive for Clint to carry around his open laptop. When Clint reached his room, Jarvis let out a crackly sigh over the connection.

“This has been a most enlightening evening, Clint. Thank you very much for conducting this experiment with me.”

“No problem,” Clint said honestly. "I had a great time. Uh… should we kiss?”

Jarvis did not answer. Clint looked around for one of the touchpad interface panels on the wall.

“That will not be necessary,” Jarvis eventually replied. “I believe, after analyzing our interactions this evening, that we would be better off as friends.”

“Oh, sure.” Clint nodded. “You wanna hang out tomorrow? We’re playing the 2008 presidential debates for Steve. Nat’s running a game on when he blows his top. You could calculate as we go so I can change my bid.”

Jarvis laughed, a quiet sound that made Clint smile to hear. “I look forward to it. Goodnight, Clint.”

“Night J.”


	3. Sharon Carter

In the year since the signing of the Sokovia Accords, a lot had happened. For the people who’d chosen to support Steve, there was a lot of red tape to go through even once they’d been officially pardoned. Bureaucracy, plus negative public opinion, plus idiot friends, made for a rough transition period. Clint, Sam Wilson, and Sharon Carter bemoaned the various issues in their lives at a dive bar in DC roughly once a week, in between Congressional inquiries, carefully planned public appearances, and Avengers training.

This week, the DC-based Avenger contingent was complaining about their non-existent dating lives over probably too many drinks. It turned out that being public figures, iconized and vilified in turns, did not attract stable relationships, or even non-creepy short-term relationships. 

“Honestly, she seems like a sweet girl, right up until she whispers in my ear, very sultry, that she trains carrier pigeons on the roof of her house, and would I want to _go meet them_. And she meant it exactly the way you don’t want it to sound,” Sam orated, eyes wide. Clint nearly snorted his beer and Sharon was clutching her gut with laughter.

“You got me,” Clint admitted when he could breathe clearly. “That tops ‘How long is your arrow?’”

“You win, Sam,” Sharon agrees, wiping away a tear and downing the last of her cosmo. “I don’t know how, but you attract the most concerning women.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” Sam moaned. “You know what, I can blame Steve for this. The day I met him, Natasha was giving me the eye, and that was the last time a sane woman showed any interest in me.”

Clint burst out laughing at the thought of Natasha as a sane woman.

“Don’t try to tell me about Captain Cockblock,” Sharon said under her breath.

Clint put his head down on the table, shaking uncontrollably.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“We had chemistry, back when he was living in D.C.,” Sharon began. The bartender replaced her cosmo and she immediately downed a third of it. “And then the next time we met in London, and Austria, he acted like he was interested.”

“Oh I remember that,” Sam said with a grin.

“Then you guys get back to the States, and I haven’t gotten more than a check-in phone call ever since! Every time I’ve seen him it’s either been all business, or Barnes is attached to his side like a barnacle.”

 _“Barnes-acle!”_ Clint shouted, slamming his hand onto the table as he began to cry.

Sharon picked up her drink to move it away from Clint’s hand. “That’s not just me, right? It’s weird.”

“Oh it’s weird,” Sam concurred, nodding matter-of-factly. “They’re attached at the hip. Like, literally. They sit down and their hips touch. I’ve never seen that with two heterosexuals.”

Sharon sighed. “I wouldn’t have any problem with it if he were gay, I just wish he would give me a straight answer instead of mixed messages.”

 _“Straight answer,”_ Clint squeaked, red-faced and trembling.

Sam patted him on the back.

Two hours later, Sam had called a cab for himself, and Clint and Sharon were sobering up over a few tall glasses of water. Clint sat up straight all of a sudden, getting Sharon’s attention.

“Hey. About Rogers.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck him.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Tried that. Didn’t work.”

“No, I don’t mean _fuck_ him, I mean _fuck him_. You should go out with me. Or, to my apartment, because I don’t think either of us has time to date.”

He nodded, clutching the side of the table for balance, to show he was serious.

Sharon tilted her head and gave him a long look. “You know what? A no-strings rebound honestly sounds like a great idea.”

“People tell me I’m a great rebound,” Clint said sincerely.

“I believe you. Not tonight, though. We’re over the limit, and, no offense, I don’t think you could get it up.”

“I couldn’t even get up from this table,” Clint agreed.

Sharon laughed.

It was the continuation of a beautiful friendship.


	4. Nebula

The Guardians of the Galaxy  — and what a ridiculous name, right? They should have gone with something cool and dignified, like the Avengers — were all bickering in the conference room, and Clint’s own teammates were either trying to calm them down, or trying to keep themselves from turning into giant green monsters. So when the angry-looking blue chick  — Nebula  — stormed out of the room and into the rest of the Tower, Clint figured he’d be the responsible one for once and make sure she didn’t get lost.

Or kill someone. Those swords she was carrying were no joke.

Or get herself killed. Tony had built some sparring robots and they had a tendency to escape the training room and attack when you weren’t expecting it.

So when he found Nebula in the gym, one punching bag already in shreds of the ground like when Steve was finished with a workout, it was pretty much the best Clint could hope for. Not even all of his teammates were so good about taking their frustration out on things that were meant to have frustration taken out on. He’d call this one a win.

Not wanting to upset her and possibly get those vicious-looking punches turned on himself, Clint found one of his favorite nooks to curl up in and keep an eye on her.

He observed for a good fifteen minutes until Nebula’s rage seemed to get the best of her. One humongous kick broke the Captain America-rated chain atop the punching bag and had it spinning across the room, where it impacted the wall with a crash. As that sound echoed through the room, Nebula let out a howl of frustration that had Clint cringing in sympathy.

The alien lady glared around the room wildly, like she was looking for something else to take out her anger on. But Clint had been here before, and he knew that no amount of punching could get out what she had going on.

He dropped down from his nook, immediately capturing her attention.

“Get away from me or I’ll disembowel you,” she said. Even her voice was vicious.

“There are ways to feel better that don’t involve disemboweling, you know,” Clint told her casually.

“And why would I want that,” Nebula spat. She practically skewered him with her angry eyes. Honestly, even the Hulk only radiated generalized anger. This woman looked like she’d climbed out of Hell to hate him, personally.

Clint was kinda an expert with professionally murderous women, though. “Maybe you’re in a situation where you can't afford to disembowel someone just yet,” he said reasonably. “I usually find that making terrible decisions about who to sleep with makes me feel better. Well, for a while at least. But I can’t exactly disembowel my ex-wife, or my ex-girlfriend, or my partner. I mean, not that I would.”

That could’ve gone worse, right?

Nebula paused in her near-vibrating anger. “You think I should have sex instead of killing someone?”

“Well, that’s what I do,” Cling clarifies. “It doesn’t have to be sex. Some people like meditation, or jogging, or writing about how they’re feeling. I’ve always been a more fuck-it-out kinda guy.”

In a very robot way, Nebula cocked her blue and gray head. “Are you offering?”

Clint thought about it for a brief moment, but a) he didn’t generally think through these snap decisions, so why start now? And b)... “I am single.” He shrugged.

“I would tear you to pieces,” Nebula said with a snort. But she didn’t look away. In fact… she may have given him an up-and-down appraisal.

Clint hesitated for a moment, but figured he might as well go all in.

“That’s what makes it a terrible decision.”

Two hours later, Nebula strode out of the training room. She smirked at Clint over her shoulder as she exited, which he decided to take as a thank you. From where he was lying, winded and in minor need of medical attention on the padded floor of the sparring area, it was a comfort.

Clint rolled gingerly onto his side and sighed the sigh of someone who has made a huge error in judgement, but is more or less resigned to the situation. He reached out and managed to snag his pants, which were ripped down one hip, and retrieve his cell phone.

_ Hey Nat _ , he texted.  _ Think you could bring a First Aid kit to the gym? _

_ What did you do now, _ she replied almost immediately.

_ Diplomacy? _

Natasha sent a thumbs-down emoji. But she followed it with an emoji of a guy with a stethoscope, so Clint relaxed on the sparring mat.

He really had great taste in exes.


	5. Heimdall

The diplomatic conference with the Asgardian royal entourage was super boring. It wasn’t that the big names weren’t talking about some really interesting things, but Clint hated sitting down and listening and looking invested for hours on end, especially when a) he hadn’t had coffee that day, b) he hadn’t had a good workout that week, due to the Avengers being ‘required’ at every single meeting, and c) it was the finals of the Stanley Cup, so he’d really have preferred to be caught up on his DVRs before he found out the scores.

And then, one of the hottest guys Clint has ever seen came into the assembly hall and sat  _ right in front of him. _

He was definitely an Asgardian. Nobody else had robes and armor with quite that level of historical pretentiousness. Definitely nobody else had those beautiful broad shoulders and thick biceps—and Clint knew from strong arms!

Clint had maybe zoned out, imagining those arms holding him up in the air with his back to the wall while he got royally fucked, when people around him started talking quietly, apparently during a moment’s break in the speeches. He quickly shifted his pad of paper, the one he was supposed to be using to take notes, over his lap.

He looked down. The pad said, ‘Trading initiative needs oversight bc of technology??’ and had a doodle of Mjolnir in the margin, and then (when the hot guy came in) he’d written ‘WOW’ and nothing else.

He looked up. The hot guy had turned around in his seat and was watching him from maybe two feet away. His eyes were glowing like they had small suns in them.

“Wow,” Clint mouthed.

“Do you have a question?” the man asked, and holy shit, even his voice was the sexiest thing Clint had heard all year.

“How did you know I was looking?”

“I see everything.” The man smirked slightly and that fiery gaze flickered down over Clint's suit.

Clint broke out in shivers. It seemed like an excellent time for a bad idea.

He leaned forward so he could talk under his breath. “Thor said that Asgardians have incredible stamina compared to Midgardians. You know, just battlefield talk. Is that true?” He managed to flutter his eyelashes, in case the flirting didn’t make it through the Allspeak.

The man smiled slowly, just as someone down at the podium began to speak again. He licked his lips, then turned to face forward.

Two hours later, Clint had fully zoned out. He was nearly dozing with his eyes open by the time a bell was rung to signify the end of the afternoon session. By the time he got his bearings, the row in front of him was nearly empty (Asgardians moved fast?) and the hottest man in the Nine Realms was gone.

Clint scowled.

He got sucked into a talk with a SHIELD official from Europe who he’d worked with in the past, and then managed to find Steve in the hobnobbing crowd and rescue him from the Secretary of Defense and one of the White House PR staff. They chatted about the session while they made their way through the crowd.

Steve had many complicated thoughts about diplomatic things. Clint tried to pretend he remembered what they were talking about. He was not very successful.

“Excuse me.”

Clint’s gut quivered as a heavy hand came down on his shoulder and that incredible, gritty voice spoke in his ear.

“Hawkeye,” the sexiest man alive said. “We should discuss the earlier matter in my rooms.”

“The immigration policy?” Steve asked. He looked surprised, then nodded to Clint in approval. “Glad you're taking an interest in the diplomatic parts of Avenging, Clint. I am Steve Rogers,” he said to the Asgardian.

They shook hands. “Heimdall, the Seer,” Clint’s crush introduced himself.

“It's a pleasure.”

“Indeed it is,” Heimdall said. Then he looked at Clint, and Clint felt his cheeks begin to redden. “Shall we?”

“Yes, definitely.” Clint cleared his throat, and intoned, “Policy, very important.”

He waved at Steve as he quickly followed Heimdall out of the hall. 

The next morning, Clint stumbled into the Avengers suite of the hotel as the others were eating brunch. He crashed into a table, nearly breaking a dish of complimentary hard candies, and got everyone’s attention.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam asked, raising one eyebrow.

Steve stood up with a look of concern. “You look like you got hit by a train. What happened?”

“Policy,” Clint said. His voice was raspy and his head was spinning, so Steve had to balance him as he nearly tipped over walking by. “Really, really good policy.”

Steve’s face went from pale to tomato-red faster than he could throw his shield.

Clint made it to his bedroom and closed the door, with Natasha’s laughter filling up the room behind him.


	6. Jessica Jones

Someone was banging on the door.

Jessica peeled an eye open and waited for it to focus on the red glare of the bedside clock.

_ 03:45 _

She turned over and pulled her pillow over her head.

The banging continued. Eventually, Jessica dragged herself out of bed and to the door. A familiar figure was casting a sad-looking shadow on her newly fixed frosted glass.

She opened the door. Clint Barton sagged in relief and smiled sheepishly.

“Hey, Jess.”

“It’s four in the fucking morning, Clint.”

“I was in the area?”

“You smell disgusting,” she told him, twisting her lip.

“I fell in a dumpster,” Clint admitted. “Can I use your shower? And possibly your first aid kit?”

Jessica rolled her eyes, glared, and let him in. She fetched the first aid kit from her desk and left it on the bathroom sink while Clint filled the room up with steam. Then she went for her liquor cabinet.

When Clint came out of the bathroom, bruises and cuts freshly treated, Jessica offered him a half-full bottle of whiskey. “Painkiller,” she told him.

Clint took it and downed a long gulp, then held the bottle up to the light.

“Is this the brand I was drinking the night we met?” he asked, a smile teasing the edges of his lips.

“What? No. Shut up.”

“You do love me!”

Jessica flopped on her bed, ignoring his full-blown grin. “Shut your face and get in bed.”

Clint snuggled up to her back like a damp, annoying, heavy-pawed dog. Jessica elbowed and shoved him until they were in a better configuration and fell back to sleep with his stupid wheezy snores in her ear.


End file.
